these stars that cross against us
by bkwrmnlvnit
Summary: He's six years old when he realises that he doesn't want to be Sirius, brave and broken and crying on the floor. Regulus-centric.


**these stars that cross against us**

 **Rated M for mentions/graphic depictions of: Physical/mental/emotional/verbal child abuse, depression/suicide, coarse language. Additional triggers may be added as the story progresses.**

 **Chapter specific triggers: Child abuse, physical and verbal**

 **I don't own anything you recognise.**

 **Enjoy. :)**

* * *

 _These violent delights have violent ends_

 _And in their triumph die, like fire and powder_

 _Which, as they kiss, consume._

Romeo and Juliet - Act II, Scene VI.

* * *

Save for the silver moonlight that streams in through the window, the darkness is complete and the night is silent now in this, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Silent except, of course, for the voice of Sirius whispering urgently to Regulus as he shakes the younger boy awake.

"C'mon, Reg, how can you be asleep right now? Wake up!" There's an energy in his hushed tone, an unquenchable excitement that only seems to be spurred on further by Regulus's distinctive lack of reply.

Admitting defeat, Regulus rolls over in the bed and opens his eyes into Sirius's, which are an even paler grey in the moonlight of the window as he crouches by Regulus's head. "It's nighttime, Sirius. We should be asleep. Mother and Father won't like it if we're not." His eyes search his brother's, and are not surprised to see them rolling sardonically.

"Sod Mother and Father," Sirius snorts quietly. "They don't like much. 'Cept you, of course, but that's because you aren't big enough for them to properly hate yet, so they're hoping you'll still turn out okay." Regulus feels his eyes widen in fear and Sirius's face changes instantly. "Sorry, Reg, I didn't mean that. You'll be fine, I think," he reassures, and the four-year-old feels himself relax instantly. For some reason, what Sirius has to say has always seemed to be a certainty for Regulus. He's not sure if it's because his brother already emits an air of confidence at the age of six or if it's just because he hasn't been wrong yet as far as memory serves. Whatever the reason, it's comforting when Sirius tells him that things will be alright.

"Anyway," the curly-haired boy says, interrupting Regulus's thoughts. "It's your birthday and I thought we should celebrate a bit, so I nicked this earlier." From the ground beside him, Sirius produces two small glasses and a bottle of what looks like some of Walburga's favorite oak-matured mead. If not for the magnetic grin on his brother's face, Regulus thinks that he might try to admonish him, but Sirius's teeth are glowing white in the moon and it's impossible to tell him no sometimes, even when that means doing something incredibly stupid and potentially dangerous, like drinking their parents' liquor.

Still, Regulus feels obligated to try even though his eyes are wide and he's smiling as he sits up. "Don't you think we should celebrate without Mother's mead? She won't be happy."

"We just covered that, Reg. She's never happy. I might as well make her mad for a good cause. Besides, you only turn five once." Sirius grins at his brother and Regulus relents, accepting the glass of liquid honey as Sirius climbs onto the bed beside him. "You're right though. We probably ought to come up with some kind of toast thing for sentiment since she'll probably make the charms locking it all up really strong in the morning."

"Toast?" For a moment, Regulus is confused. "I thought you said that was a muggle breakfast food with burning things. Mother didn't like when you asked about making it-"

Sirius almost barks out a laugh, but quiets it just in time so it can't break out and wake up their parents before they have some fun. His eyes are dancing as he speaks. "Not that kind of toast, Reg. I mean the drinking kind of toast."

"What's that?"

"I think it's something muggles came up with where they use it to have a reason to drink, but a lot of wizards do it too." The curly-haired boy shifts, making his shadow move.

"They tell everybody why they're drinking?"

"Yeah, exactly," Sirius grins.

"But doesn't that get boring? Listening to everyone explain why they want some mead? Do the others listen to the person toasting things or are they just talking to themselves?" This idea of toasting confuses Regulus desperately, as do many of the muggle concepts Sirius somehow pulls out of seemingly nowhere and tries to explain.

"Well, I don't think- I don't think everybody does it," Sirius attempts again. "Just…Just when they have something important to say. And it's not like a long, drawn out sort of thing where they tell the whole pub dramatically how their dog died and their wife was hexed into a slug that got salted or something before tipping back, I think it's just when people want to share the important thing that they're drinking for with some people they're drinking with. Like now, I would toast with you."

"But what are we toasting? Do people toast to being five years old?" Regulus drinks in Sirius's words against his own knowledge that it might be better not to encourage him.

His brother bites his lip. "I don't think they usually do, but that's just because there aren't a lot of five-year-olds who are supposed to be drinking. We might be the first," he grins.

Something tells Regulus that on the list of firsts, drinking mead at midnight for a fifth birthday present probably isn't especially prestigious, but he doesn't particularly care at the moment. He holds his glass tightly in his hands, not wanting to spill a drop. "What do we toast to then?" he asks, looking to Sirius since he seems to have all the answers for the moment.

"I don't know," the older boy muses for a moment. "What about…I've got it. To a long life," he grins, lifting up his glass. Regulus grins and mirrors the movement, then holds his glass there for several long seconds in confusion as Sirius stares at him.

Regulus tilts his head to the side. "Now what?"

"Tap it," Sirius suggests, shaking his head when Regulus starts poking the glass experimentally. "No, no, not you. Like this," he restates, grabbing the five year old's hand with his free one and leading him to tap his glass gently against the other one. "See?" Regulus nods obediently and takes it in. "Good," Sirius says, and repeats the toast. This time, Regulus taps his glass without being told, and Sirius grins. "Here we go," he laughs, tipping it back.

On the bed, Regulus does the same, and he shudders at the surprisingly bitter taste until the smoothness kicks in, even and sweeping. He downs the glass quickly and grins at Sirius over the rim when he notices the grey eyes trained on him. "It tastes good," he murmurs, eyes wide and mouth twitching at the corners.

Sirius smiles crookedly. "Doesn't it? Here, hold the glass." He reaches for the bottle and refills both of their drinks with a gesture that's smooth enough to seem like second nature, and Regulus wonders briefly why it looks so simple when the bottle is glass and awkwardly large, almost as long as Sirius's arm, but he doesn't ask.

The older boy grabs his glass from between his legs again. "Your turn now." At Regulus's blank look, he shakes his head with a smile. "The toast. It's your turn to make a toast." There's a pause before Sirius adds the afterthought. "And don't use mine, I came up with it."

Regulus sticks his tongue out at his brother, but says nothing as he thinks for a moment about what to use as a reason for being awake at midnight drinking a bottle of stolen mead with his brother on the day he turns five. It takes a moment before he finally stops biting his lip as he looks at Sirius. "Got it," he grins, raising his glass. "To us."

Sirius's eyes widen for a second before settling back down in a happy grin. "To us," he echoes. "I like it." He's smiling as he taps his glass against Regulus's, and they drink again in silence for a second time, and then stare at each other. The mead is a warm pool in Regulus's stomach, and he feels content and a little bit sleepy. The look on Sirius's face indicates similar tendencies.

"Alright then," Sirius says eventually, "that should probably do it for now. Don't want to down the whole bottle and get ourselves completely sloshed, do we?" His grey eyes are twinkling, and he leans over to cap the bottle up again, taking Regulus's glass back from him. "I'll talk to you in the morning," he says, going across the room to where his own bed is against the opposite wall. Regulus watches in the moonlight as his brother carefully tucks the mead back under his bed and mutters something before crawling back in between the covers. He turns on his right side, looking across the room and meeting Regulus's eyes in the moonlit darkness. _Happy birthday,_ he mouths, grinning, and Regulus smiles back before they both close their eyes and huddle down for a longer sleep.

* * *

" _You._ "

The word rings oddly loudly in Regulus's ears as it's spat across the room. Despite it not being directed to him, he distinctly feels the venom in the tone and wonders exactly how Sirius is continuing to nonchalantly eat his breakfast with that sort of rage being thrown at him, but the six-year-old is managing and even gives his mother a small wave of greeting as the accusative tone registers for him.

Walburga Black is not amused. Green eyes narrowed and platinum blonde hair secured tightly back in a severe bun, she's the embodiment of strictness as she walks purposefully across the kitchen to where her eldest son sits and looks pointedly down her nose at him before abruptly slamming a glass bottle down in front of where he sits. The mead bottle from last night echoes sharply in its emptiness against the gleaming wood of the table. " _Explain,_ " Walburga demands.

Sirius makes a show of slowly chewing and swallowing the bite of food he's consuming and sitting down his fork, and then he leans forward to look closely at the bottle. Walburga's eye twitches as the boy pulls his head back and twists his face to look at hers. "It would appear to be empty," he states simply.

Something dangerous flashes in her eyes. "Why?"

Sirius shrugs. "According to our tutors, empty is usually a state in which an object no longer holds something, so I'd assume that if it's empty, it's because the mead is gone, presumably due to having been drunk-"

Regulus jumps in fear as Walburga's hand flashes out and Sirius's head goes to the side with a sharp crack. The elder Black holds her palm stiffly in resonance of the slap, and her eyes twitch madly at the corners, a muscle jumping at the corner of her jaw, where the skin already appears to be stretched tight when she isn't scowling. "You will not take that insolent tone with me, Sirius." Her son says nothing, and she glowers threateningly. Her words are stiff as she speaks again. "I have asked you a simple question and I expect a direct answer. You are being raised to be a proper young man, not a muggle tramp who takes his own ability to read as a miracle. Now, allow me to ask again so that I may receive my proper answer. _Why is this bottle empty?_ "

Regulus wants to groan, but the tension in the air is too thick for him to manage. Sirius's eyes are shining with a challenge, and Regulus can see the exact moment that his brother decides that yes, this is indeed a perfect moment to take up the role of an imbecile. "It would appear that there is nothing more in it, hence it is empty. Perhaps some muggle tramp came in and borrowed it because they wanted a pint," he suggests without breaking eye contact.

Walburga's nostrils flare, and she abruptly grabs Sirius's chin. Regulus focuses on his food as much as he can to avoid seeing the sudden grimace of pain on his brother's face that disappears almost as quickly as it shows up when their mother digs her fingernails into his skin. "Allow me to explain my idea of events then," she says softly. "Rather than a muggle tramp, a young boy with no sense of loyalty or decency elected to shame those who have raised him by stealing from them. And rather than admitting to his wrongs and begging for forgiveness as he undoubtedly should for his inexcusable actions to a family who has done him no wrong, who has provided him food and shelter despite his own overwhelming lack of gratitude, this insolent, _insignificant_ blunder of a young boy then continued to lie and evade confession because he could not acknowledge his own wrongs. Does this sound correct, Sirius? Does that little boy sound familiar?"

Regulus marvels at the fact that Sirius's gaze has remained even and cool this whole time. There's a long silence and he appears to be having a silent argument with their mother with neither one yielding before he finally speaks. "I don't believe we've met," he says.

" _Insolent-!_ " The hand on Sirius jerks harshly to the side, and the other rapidly pushes on his shoulder. Regulus jumps at the clatter as his brother is suddenly on the ground, but before he can be afraid Sirius is already pushing himself up, blood oozing quietly down his face and onto his throat from where Walburga's nails pierced the skin. Regulus can see the tension in his fists, in his entire frame now as he glares solidly back at their mother. "You _shame_ the Noble House of Black with your traitorous ways and bring dishonor upon us all! Engrossing yourself in that culture through some infernal means like some common mudblood filth, denying our noble ancestry! Have you no respect for your fathers and the greatness they achieved through maintaining our pure bloodlines through the ages despite the likes of-?"

"No, actually, I don't," Sirius spits.

For a moment, Regulus actually expects Walburga to catch aflame with the intensity of her rage. Instead, he watches horrified as she settles instead for flicking her wand at her eldest son, and Sirius goes flying into the nearby wall so hard Regulus swears he hears something snap, and he fights to keep himself controlled as he notes the way that Sirius slumps down for a moment before pushing himself up, slightly hunched and still glaring as he presses a hand to the back of his head. There's a crack in the wall where he'd connected, and Walburga seethes as she waves her wand again, fixing it. "Shame of my flesh – how _dare_ you soil this day with your irreverent and traitorous ways? When your father gets down here-"

"Is he still trying to get in his beauty sleep? Someone ought to inform him it won't work." The anger in Sirius's eyes is palpable, and it's clear he's about to go on until a heavier voice cuts him off.

"On the subject of that which will not work, apparently polite attempts to amend your insulting inability to comprehend the importance of your bloodline fall onto that list." Orion Black's voice is steady as he enters the kitchen, his tone detached and calm as if he's examining a particularly annoying flea that happened to show up to his meal – which, Regulus supposes, in his manner of thinking may not be entirely inaccurate. Sirius opens his mouth to say something, but it's as if he suddenly can't, because Regulus notes the way his eyes widen in surprise before his jaw slams shut and his gaze hardens.

Orion doesn't look at Sirius, but gazes right past him as he comes to sit down at his place in the head of the table. He continues speaking uninterrupted, partially because of fear, partially because Sirius can't talk at all and Walburga is still watching him with a vindictive sort of venom in her gaze. "It astounds me, to be honest, how simple-minded you insist on acting. Your tutor assures me that you have the propensity for greatness, should you choose to embrace it. And yet you remain as foolish as ever, continuing this pointless crusade of yours as if it will accomplish something." His words are slow and deliberate, but his tone is conversational. Even though Orion isn't watching Sirius and neither is Walburga by now, Regulus is. He's watching his brother, and he notes the way that Sirius's hand snakes lightly up to touch his throat for a moment before returning, trembling to his side.

"Perhaps you don't realise, Sirius, that your little attempts at a rebellion are unlikely to be successful. Perhaps we have been too kind, and it has encouraged the idea that there might be some favorable outcome for you should you continue to pursue this path." Orion is methodical as he cuts into the meat in his breakfast. Regulus has stopped eating as he watches his brother, who has now sunk back against the wall, who is now slumping to the ground as their father continues. "Allow me to dispel this notion now. You are a member of the House of Black, and you will act as such. You will not continue to show such flagrant disrespect to those who provide you with the means to continue your existence despite its rapidly deteriorating value. You will not continue to seek out ways to reject our generosity by embedding yourself in the culture of those scum you seem to find so fascinating."

Sirius is on the ground, mouth open now and gaping, gasping silently. Regulus finally pieces together in horror what is happening, realizes that for some reason, somehow, his brother isn't breathing, _can't_ breathe. There's a cruel smile on Walburga's face, but Regulus's is stricken with fear that he tries and fails to hide. Orion is still talking, but neither of his sons are listening now. Sirius's hands are at his throat, shaking violently as if he's trying to repress whatever force is keeping him from air, but it's to no avail, and Regulus feels himself go cold as he notes the way that his brother is starting to turn purple, how his hands are starting to droop feebly.

 _Stop it,_ he thinks, but somehow the words aren't forming on his tongue. _Stop it, Father, you're hurting him,_ but of course he doesn't say it. They wouldn't care if he did, Regulus knows that. He feels his stomach twist, but he's too paralyzed by what's happening to move and Orion's words are still marching on even though Sirius is clearly about to pass out, and when Sirius does finally gasp in a breath through all his struggles, the force of his effort is loud enough to make Regulus jump.

He doesn't know when, but Regulus notes that at some point, Orion has turned to face Sirius, who is now coughing violently on the floor as air returns to his lungs. He tries to ignore the way that his hands are shaking, the way that Sirius's whole body is shaking, and he tries to focus back on his food, but Orion's voice is frighteningly soft as he speaks to his eldest son. "There is a power that comes with our bloodline, Sirius," he says clearly. "It is an old power, and a strong one. You would do well to remember that fact, and to consider it when thinking about playing these foolish games of yours that you seem to enjoy so deeply, because those of us who do remember that power are most enabled to make use of it." Regulus shudders at how cold Orion's voice is as he pulls a still-gasping Sirius from the floor by his throat and forces him to meet his eyes. "Do not believe yourself so important that you are immune from being pruned from this line to preserve our dignity, for I assure you, it would mean nothing to me to end this to honor the work of those who have honored this house through the years."

There's a loud thump as Sirius hits the ground again. Orion turns away as if he hasn't been speaking to him at all. "Kreacher!" he calls, and the summoned house elf appears almost instantly at his master's side and bows deeply.

"Master?" he croaks out, head still inclined to show his servitude.

"Take Sirius up to the spare room. He is to remain there until he experiences a change of attitude. You have full permission to use whatever means you must to bring about this change. He is not to be allowed to interact with his brother until such time as he realizes how to behave in a manner befitting of his bloodline." As earlier with Sirius, Orion doesn't look at Kreacher as he speaks.

"Yes, Master, Kreacher understands," the house-elf replies obediently, marching over to Sirius and grabbing his arm. Sirius yanks it out of his grasp, glaring viciously, but apparently there's still something keeping him from speaking because he says nothing as he leaves the room with a venomous glare to his parents and his head held high. As ordered, Kreacher follows dutifully, and a few moments later, Regulus hears the sound of feet on stairs, one set right after the other.

Their eldest son erased from the scene, Walburga and Orion now turn their interests to Regulus, who has managed to wipe his face clean and is now finishing up his breakfast with impeccable grace. Walburga smiles as if nothing has happened, her skin stretching back to reveal too-white teeth, and for a moment, Regulus sees the snakelike resemblance that Sirius fervently insists is visible in his mother's face. "Happy Birthday, Regulus," she says. "May you have many more to come."


End file.
